


Slither

by Pimento, StuffedOlive



Category: Slither (2006), Supernatural
Genre: Other, WIP, dream walking crossover, love slugs, slugs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8291464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimento/pseuds/Pimento, https://archiveofourown.org/users/StuffedOlive/pseuds/StuffedOlive
Summary: Bright red brain invading slugs... need I say more...Crossover of my favourite film and my favourite TV show...    graphic by Reaperlove





	1. Chapter 1

They had been sitting around outside the bunker, drinking beers and watching the stars after a late night drive back from a run of the mill salt and burn, when the night sky had suddenly blazed. Dean had been blinking against the streak burned into his vision when he noticed the change in Cas. Where moments before they had been relaxing, the Winchesters laughing and joking, Cas leaning comfortably shoulder to shoulder with Dean against the Impala, enjoying the convivial atmosphere without really understanding the jokes, Cas had suddenly gone rigid. The beer bottle he had been holding as part of his ‘play along with the chill’ lay on the ground, it contents spilling into the dry dust and his blue eyes were wide, his expression frozen.

“It’s just a meteor shower, Cas,” Dean had said gently. He reached out tentatively and felt trembling under his touch. Sam who had been gazing with some amazement at the impromptu light show, flicked his gaze over the two of them and decided to give them some privacy. He’d mumbled something about hitting the hay and ducked inside.

“It’s just lumps of dust and rock burning up in the atmosphere, Cas. Nothing more. Look at me, buddy. I know what it’s reminding you of, but the past is the past. It’s gone burned to nothing just like those meteorites. It’s all just dust.” He couldn’t help but give a rueful laugh at the expression on Cas’ face, a mixture of confusion and scepticism. “Yeah, yeah, I know, that’s practically poetry for me… Come on, let’s go inside, we’ll flop on the couch, hit Netflix. I think it’s time I introduced you to a little firefly called Serenity and the genius that is Mal Reynolds.”

Cas had allowed himself to be guided inside. And when Dean woke, in the middle of the night, finding himself exactly where he had slumped once the exhaustion took him, covered in a blanket with his boots removed, stocking feet pressed against the solid warmth of Cas’ thigh, he had been so relieved to see the relaxed profile in the flickering light from the screen. “Enjoying it?” he muttered, sleepily.

Cas had regarded him with solemnity. “Considering the advanced technology required to fly between worlds, their resemblance to frontiersman and cowboys is a pleasant juxtaposition. I see why you find it so appealing. Captain Reynolds is quite the anti-hero.”

Dean had yawned. “A ‘yeah’ would do, Cas,” he mumbled, his eyes already sliding shut.

 

The landscape was unfamiliar. Peculiar beasts, weird hybrids, something like dinosaur cows, lurched across a purple landscape the soft blue green of their mottled skins, glowing under the light of two suns, which blazed in a turquoise sky, one orange and one a soft haze of yellow, as a comet streaked across the heavens. The creatures gazed at it briefly before returning to chewing on the soft purple foliage under their feet. Images flashed through her mind, the colours of the beautiful quiet land were changing now, there were tiny blood red slugs swarming everywhere, and the placid, sweet animals began bellowing in pain, before they turned on each other, flat chewing teeth not equipped to tear flesh, but trying all the same.

“Er, Miss? Are you all right, Miss?” The worried face of a middle-aged man with receding hair and an overlarge red nose swam into focus as the strange world faded away. She took in the navy blue of his uniform and the embroidered ‘SECURITY’ on his shoulder panel, his voice was full of concern, his hand cool and gentle as he hesitantly touched her face. She blinked hard against the pain in her head, utterly disorientated and vaguely nauseated. She was slumped against the edge of a padded red leather booth in the packed food court of the mall, her backpack and coat scattered on the ground beside her next to the upturned coffee cup she had dropped as she collapsed. She stared at it, ‘Emily’ and a cute little daisy scrawled on the side of the cardboard in sharpie. A few people were openly gaping, others began moving away now that it was apparent she was in safe hands and appeared to be OK.

“I’m so sorry…I must have passed out…low blood sugar maybe…” she cast about vaguely for an excuse. Her hands shook and she tried to pick herself up.

“Careful now, Miss.” He gave her an anxious little smile, and supported her as she slumped back onto the banquette of the booth. “Do you want me to call someone? Maybe I should fetch one of the medics…”

“No, I’m fine,” she tried to reassure him. “Just need to sit quietly for a minute or two.”

“At least let me get you some water,” he said kindly.

A short bus ride later and glad to be home, she leant back against the door, letting the back of her head flop back against the wood, her long hair swinging back. She closed her eyes momentarily, feeling Carys curling his lithe body around her leg. She pushed herself away from the door with one smooth undulation and dropped her keys on the counter, removing her coat and reaching for his food.

She had barely made it to the couch when the sudden wave hit her again. This time she was lay in a hot bath, sassing her mother through the white painted door. She relaxed back into the warmth of the steaming water, the subtle scent of the bubble bath filling her nostrils. Vibration from the tiny headphones scratched her ears as she turned up her music, a line of goosebumps rising gently on her skin where it broke the surface and was exposed to the slightly cooler air…

She came round from the dream as Carys nuzzled under her chin, and the same severe pain flashed across her temporal lobe. It was dark outside her apartment window. It was three days since the visions had begun. First as short snippets, but now seemed to be coming thick and fast, lasting progressively longer. They didn’t feel like dreams, they were so much more intense than that, like flashbacks, leaving the impression of vivid memories. 

She had struggled back from this one with a single pressing thought in her mind. She needed to find Bill and warn him about Mr Grant… the only slight snag… she didn’t have a fucking clue who Bill was, nor despite the sense of dread and fear the name induced, Mr Grant.

Finally decided, she walked to the bureau in the corner of the room to look for a scrap of paper she had hoped she would never, ever need. She found it easily, it was 10 years since she had accepted it, somewhat reluctantly before climbing aboard the bus to return to Boston to make a new life for herself. God knows if it was still in use, or more to the point, if they were even still alive after all this time, what with their line of work. But it was worth a try and they were the only people she knew, who wouldn’t think she was nuts. She looked at the set of numbers in faded ink and dialled.

 

They were sitting drinking coffee in the war room, discussing the call.

“Emily Jorgeson?” Sam was trying to remember her, the name was familiar, but he couldn’t place her. Not quite. For a brief second he felt guilty, until he realised it was partially a sign of the sheer number of people they had helped over the years.

“Yeah, Emily,” Dean confirmed, with his usual level of snark. “Burkitsville, Indiana. First tree. Fugly scarecrow. Sacrificial niece. Emily.”

“Ah,” recognition finally spread across his face, “the town that valued pie almost as much as you do.”

“Funny,” Dean muttered sarcastically, “but then, of course you barely remember her, you were busy playing Bonnie and Clyde with Meg.” Cas was so used to the Winchester’s bickering that he barely even acknowledged the tit for tat, but at the mention of Meg his head snapped up, his eyes narrowing.

“As I recall, I came back just in time to save your sorry ass.” Sam gloated. But Dean’s attention had shifted to the angel.

“Cas, you OK, buddy?” He had been out of sorts for the last few days. Ever since the night of the meteor shower. The comfortable reprieve of the moment on the couch as they watched Netflix together had only been temporary, when Dean had woken again in the morning Cas was gone and although a constant presence in the bunker, seemed to have been avoiding being alone with him ever since. Whilst their ‘friendship’ was littered with a variety of dick moves that Dean had made over the years, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what he had done this time.

Choosing to ignore Dean’s question, Cas asked his own. “This Emily. She met you on a previous case involving Meg?”

“No,” Sam said. “Dean was working the case on his own. I met Meg while I was hitch hiking after Dean drove off and left me on the side of the road.”

“I didn’t drive off and leave you… well OK, I drove off and left you, but only because you…”

“You were fighting and ended up separated and in trouble.” It was not a question. Cas sounded like an exasperated parent. He rolled his eyes.

The Winchester brothers looked at each other, for all the world like a couple of naughty boys. “It was Sam who…” Dean began, but stopped blinking in surprise and going slightly cross-eyed as he stared at the index finger Cas had pressed against his lips.

“Really?” Cas growled. “Were you really about to say ‘He started it’!” Without removing his hand he turned his burning blue gaze on Sam, who had the good sense to hastily rearrange the amused look on his face into one of contrition. “I’m sure whatever terrible, heinous injury caused one or both of you to fall out with the other was reciprocated in full. The next words out of your mouth, Dean Winchester, will be everything I need to know about Emily Jorgeson and will have nothing whatsoever to do with whatever utterly inconsequential and unimportant argument the two of you were having. Nod if you agree.” Wide-eyed, Dean nodded. It was all Sam could do not to splutter. It was as if Cas were suddenly channelling Missouri…

“…so that’s it. They pulled us out of the root cellar and zip tied us to trees in the Orchard. I was working on a plan to get Emily and I free,” he ignored Sam’s barely disguised cough of ‘bullshit’, judging by the smooth turn of his head and withering glare, Cas had caught it only too well, “when Sam came back and cut us loose. We started to run, but the townsfolk were waiting for us, determined to make sure the Vanir got his sacrifice.”

“So Emily’s only remaining family were prepared to let her die,” Cas’ voice was soft and thoughtful.

“And me! They were plenty ready to sacrifice us both for the apple harvest. Mind you, it was insanely good pie…” he added wistfully. Cas squinted at him, and Dean recoiled under the intensity of the blue eyes. “I’m kidding. Anyway, ol’ Fugly had better ideas and took the Aunt and Uncle instead. Everyone else scarpered, and we went back with Emily the next day and torched the first tree. She set fire to it herself. Strong kid. We gave her the emergency number and dropped her at the bus stop.”

“She was nearly killed, betrayed by the only family she knew, watched them die at the hands of a pagan fertility God and then had to destroy her home and you put her on a bus.” A strange look flickered across Cas’ face and Dean felt distinctly uneasy. He was about to say something more, to explain why and how it had been OK to put her on the greyhound, when Sam’s phone beeped and he interrupted. 

“Emily’s flight gets into Kansas City in a little under 4 hours, we better haul ass if we’re gonna make it in time to pick her up.” Cas nodded at Sam and stood up. The moment to justify himself was lost.

 

Emily proved herself to be just as bomb proof as Dean remembered her. She was clearly worried, but she still exuded the same kind of quiet strength of purpose and determination that had impressed him back in Burkitsville. Her flight had been delayed, landing over two hours late, and rather than drive through the night to make the run back to the bunker they had booked into a cheap motel just outside the city. Sam had been dispatched for food, while Cas and Dean set about warding the room, despite Emily’s protests that they weren’t dealing with anything ‘supernatural’ this time.

“Extra terrestrial – as in ‘phone-home’, glowing finger, butt probing ET?” Dean asked, cracking open a beer and handing it to her as she sat at the little table opposite Cas.

Confusion wrinkles formed between Cas’ eyebrows and he squinted at Dean, opening his mouth to say something, her was cut off abruptly by Emily. “No,” she said impatiently, “more the ‘sentient parasite inside your brain and destroy humanity’ hive mind, alien invasion trope. And it’s coming.”

Cas’ swung back, the furrow above his nose, seemingly deepening still further, in a way Dean would have not thought possible. “Well, shit!” Dean said. “How the hell do you ‘know’ this, Emily?”

“That,” she said softly, “is the confusing part. I don’t know. I have these memories. It’s like they’re my memories, and I don’t get it. I can see what it did, somewhere else, and by that I mean other worlds. But then, it’s like… I can remember it being here. I remember lying in the bath, and being attacked by one of the parasites. It tried to get down my throat. I can remember killing it with a curling wand. I can remember trying to rescue my sisters and being too late. I can remember falling off the roof as I scrambled to run away and I can remember my sisters and my parents trying to attack me, while I hid in our truck.”

“Sisters? I didn’t know you had sisters?” Dean interjected.

“I don’t. I mean I didn’t… that’s what I mean… they weren’t my family… we lived in Boston, we never owned a damned truck… hell, we lived in an apartment block on the fourth floor, we didn’t have a porch roof for me to fall off of. And they were calling me Kylie…” she bunched the heels of her clenched fists into her eyes. “I can remember as if I remember, but they’re not my memories and I’ve never experienced headaches like it.”

“And you’re sure you haven’t been watching too much SciFi channel?” The glare she gave him made him swallow convulsively. “OK, OK, I’m sorry, stupid question.” He turned to Cas, who was watching Emily with a curiosity, tinged with something else, bordering perhaps on admiration. “Do you think it could be some kind of possession? A neural link?”

Cas shook his head. “Not like you mean it,” he gave Dean a dismissive glance and reached out towards Emily. She flinched away, until Dean laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she held steady. Cas closed his eyes, as his fingers made contact with the cool skin of her forehead.

Seconds later, Dean was staring at two unconscious forms slumped on opposite sides of the chipped formica table. “Great,” he growled. “Just great.” He checked Emily first, her pulse was steady, her breathing like that of deep sleep, so he slipped his arms under her knees and back and lifted her easily onto one of the motel beds. 

He turned back and grunting with the effort hoisted Cas onto the other. Without really thinking he stroked the dark hair away where it was sticking to Cas’ forehead. It was cool, but clammy to the touch. Dean perched on the edge of the counterpane and after a seconds indecision, he removed the striped tie and undid a couple of buttons on the crisp white dress shirt. He was just wondering what the hell to do next when he heard the rattle of the door and Sam entered carrying a paper bag of groceries.

 

“Well, that’s new,” Cas said to himself as he stood up gingerly and dusted down his trenchcoat, his grace already healing the subtle bleeding under his subdermis before the bruise of the rough landing could even properly form. The night was warm, cicada and other nighttime noises provided a gentle sonic backdrop. He listened carefully to his inner sounds, even tried tuning himself into angel radio, but there was nothing. His brain flirted briefly with the possibility that he had been transported to another plane of reality…but no…the last time this had happened it had been Gabriel’s doing, but all the archangels were either dead or in the cage. Heaven no longer had that kind of clout. The only other possibility was some form of dream walking.

There was quite a nip to the air despite the warmth, and realising his shirt was open, he refastened it, wondering briefly what he had done with his tie. He turned his head sharply at a sudden rustling sound to his left, but it was just a gentle breeze shifting the shoulder high corn, beyond the fence. He walked across the scruffy grass of a wide verge and stepped out onto the dusty flat top. It stretched in both directions as far as he could see in the moonlight. He gazed up at the night sky, at least the stars were familiar, placing him somewhere in the South East of the USA on Earth or at least some representation of it. Well, whatever, wherever, he wasn’t going to find a solution standing in the middle of nowhere. With a sigh, he picked a direction, and began walking.

 

The Winchesters stood hands on hips staring at the two sleeping figures. They had been stood in silence for at least five minutes, after the initial explanation from Dean, and a couple of half-assed questions from Sam, there really wasn’t much else to say.

“We can’t just get another room and leave them unattended,” Sam finally said. Dean shook his head, not taking his eyes off Cas. Sam opened the bag and placed their dinner on the table. They ate in silence. The only sounds in the room the gentle breathing of their companions and the occasional overlying rustle of a bag, or noise from eating. The next two hours were spent quietly checking through the notes they had made and scrolling through the internet, until Sam gave a conspicuous yawn. It was well past 12. It had been a long day.

Dean stood up, stretching his spine and strolled to the bathroom. When he returned he discovered Sam lounging in the easy chair in the room, long legs balanced onto the edge of the bed on which Emily lay like a modern day sleeping beauty. Dean tweaked the blanket over Sam and wondered briefly about lying on the bed next to Cas. He turned back and looked down at his sleeping form. He frowned, Sam had refastened Cas’ shirt, buttoned it right up tight under his chin, with a shake of his head, Dean undid the buttons again and pulled the shirt loosely open. Otherwise, Cas was lay exactly as he had dropped him, star fished across the bed. Dean sat down on one of the dining chairs, dropping his head onto his folded arms on the table.

 

Emily found herself sat in the truck from her nightmares, she was wiping blood from her face onto a filthy flannel. She glanced up and saw with horror that ‘her family’ were lurching towards her, their movements a perfect parody of zombies, awkward, stiff legged gaits, as if they weren’t quite in control of their muscles. They closed in on her, calling to ‘Kylie’ in their soft southern accents. She screwed her eyes shut briefly, willing herself to wake up. The shuddering crash as her ‘father’ raised a rock above his head and brought it down against the windscreen made her scream despite herself.

“Hey!” She saw him coming at a half run around the corner of the house, dressed in his brown uniform, badge glinting in the lights from the porch. “What’s going on?” Without hesitation she was out of the truck and running towards him. Bill. Chief Pardy. Safety.

“Easy, easy, easy,” he murmured, letting her dart behind him. “What the hell are you doing?” he yelled. “What the hell happened to you, Otis?”

‘Otis’, whose face was covered in blood and slime as it drooled from his mouth onto his plaid shirt, raised one mangled arm, from which the flesh was beginning to separate, staring at it weirdly. “Poison ivy out back mebbe?”

The two small girls in their bloodied nightgowns, eyes glazed, chorused, “we’re itchy.”

Emily flexed her fingers gripping onto Bill. She could feel the heat of his body, feel the slick texture of his police issue bomber jacket under her fingertips. She could smell the blood in the air and the subtle aroma of his aftershave. She could feel the burn and soreness in her own throat, and the strange chill warmth of Southern evening air was all about her. All her senses were functioning too well, it was all too real, this was no fucking dream. She began gabbling about how this wasn’t her family and worms in brains, registering with some surprise the Southern twang of her own voice.

“Y’all go and rest easy in the house, now,” Bill was saying, “I’m gonna go back to town and fetch you the paramedics. I’ll just take Kylie with me.” She clutched tighter to Bill as he half pushed, half dragged her along with him towards the cruiser, struggling with the central locking as panic made him clumsy. Slamming the door he dodged around the back of the vehicle and jumped behind the wheel.

A splatter of gloopy drool hit the glass beside his head, and he jerked around. “What the hell is with the spitting?”

 

Finally in the distance, Cas could make out lights. As he drew closer he realised he could hear the sounds of revving engines and screaming. Warily he walked to the edge of the field and lifted himself lightly over a fence and into the patchy trees and undergrowth, using the cover to approach cautiously around the bend.

A young blonde woman and an older man streaked across the road. They were running for their lives, silhouetted by the lights of a vehicle approaching down the road. The figure pursuing them was dressed in uniform but it lurched awkwardly, it’s movements clearly not typically human. Suddenly from nowhere a police cruiser slammed into the officer and slewed to a halt. The uniformed figure was flung along the roadway, rolling over and over, landing on its back in the beam of the headlights.

Cas stared on in amazement as the young woman grabbed a length of angle iron and slammed it with a strength belied by her slender frame straight into the throat of the prone figure. She howled in rage, and Cas blinked as he watched her from his hiding place in the brush. For what seemed like an eternity she continued viciously twisting and pushing down with all her strength all the while growling and shouting, her voice never once tipping into screaming, until the legs stopped twitching and the gurgling noises ceased.

Her companion who had only just escaped the clutches of whatever creature the deputy had become stared with a mixture of admiration and shock. “Bitch is hardcore,” he muttered as she threw down the bar, kicking the corpse in the head for good measure.

The driver of the cruiser had opened his door and was screaming at them to get in the car. The last thing Cas saw as it swept past him was Emily’s pale profile in the back seat. He watched the red glow of the tail lights disappearing along the road and round the corner from where he had just come.

Waiting until the lurching creatures chasing after the car, calling “Starla, Starla,” had all disappeared around the bend. He slipped from his hiding place to inspect the corpse on the road. A small, sluglike creature a few inches long was crawling from the wreckage of the mangled jaw. It was fast, despite being clearly injured, but Cas was faster. He stamped his foot onto its tail, and tilting his head he stared at it as it struggled to get away from him, taking in its scaly, slimy texture and apparent lack of sensory organs. It appeared to have only a mouth.

 

He glanced back up, aware that other humanoids were approaching through the gloom in the distance. There was not time to try and investigate more, so he crushed the creature under his foot and using the sleeve of his trenchcoat as protection he scooped up the remnants and placed them in his pocket. He shivered feeling a sudden chill around his neck. With mild irritation, refastened his shirt collar, before slinking back into the undergrowth. He needed to find a vehicle.

 

The click of the motel door woke Dean with a slight start. His fingers closed reflexively expecting to find his knife under his pillow, but his hand recoiled as the pillow felt unexpectedly warm and heavy, and he realised he was groping under the side of Cas’ shoulder. He sat up so rapidly that he threw himself off balance, sliding inelegantly from the bed landing with a less than subtle thump on rough motel carpet. He heard Sam chuckle, and as his head cleared the edge of the bed he glared at him. Sleep clearing, he remembered waking in the early hours, wiping drool from his face and the table as Sam shook him awake and told him to ‘stop being such a dumb ass and just lie down on the bed’.

Sam set his precious cargo down on the table. The smell of bacon wafted across the room, and Dean’s stomach growled appreciatively. Neither Emily nor Cas were showing any signs of waking. He gathered what remained of his dignity and opened the bag. “Dude,” he snapped, “bagels?!”

“Bagels with cheese and bacon. Geez, I thought you’d be pleased. It’s the nearest I could get to a coronary to go in this neighbourhood.”

 

All the occupants of the car were lost in silent shock. Kylie was thinking rapidly, trying to make sense of the sudden switch up of events. She had been having the weirdest dream while she lay in the bath. She had been sat in a motel, with a man she knew and he had introduced her to an Angel. The angel had watched her carefully, bright blue eyes boring into her as if he could read her thoughts, and then he had touched her. And now she thought about it she could almost feel the slight greasy static of his fingertips on her forehead. Her head hurt, perhaps she had banged it when she fell from the roof at home.

Something was nagging at the back of her mind, something she thought was important, something she should remember, but she must, she realised be in deep shock. They all were, the Mayor, Jack MacReady, had thrown a hissy fit about soda. Her teacher Mrs Grant was sat in silence in the passenger seat having just dispatched one of the deputies with such extreme violence that they were all a little afraid of her and Bill Pardy, trying to make small talk, calmly driving them back into town. Talking on the radio to Shelby, asking her to get onto the CDC to try and get some help. So maybe it was no surprise she felt weirded out.

When that disgusting wormy thing had bitten into her throat it had left the memories of alien worlds. She suddenly realised that the voice she could hear breaking the silence in the car was her own, barely more than a whisper. “It was me… I became it... him...part of him...Mrs Grant's husband...only older than that...before it was him...it took over other worlds...always... breeding with some, turning others and eating the rest until there's nothing left...destroying everything until there's nothing left..." The images of devastation flashed through her mind. “We have to stop it,” she said softly. “If we destroy it, the rest of them will die, they are all connected.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean was pacing up and down the patchy carpet.  The impotence of their situation was driving him slowly crazy.  They had no leads, no information, nothing.  Sam looked up from the laptop, knowing that at some point the brooding storm cloud that was his brother was going to strike.  He was always the same where Cas was concerned.

They had gone over and over what Emily had said to him and Cas, before their descent into what was for all intents and purposes a dual coma.  Sam had a suspicion.  He clicked a final link and then cleared his throat.  “I think,” he began cautiously, “that we should check out the meteor storm.  Most of the particles were just dust, but there was one solid large streak that may have made landfall.”  

Dean paused in his pacing.  “You think there’s something in the whole ET bullshit?”

“I think,”  Sam repeated, “that we should check it out. It’s a hell of a coincidence that Emily’s headaches and visions started just before a massive meteor shower.  The only problem is that although I can triangulate using the various weather stations in the area, the likely strike area still covers roughly 500 square miles of the Carolinas.”

“Great.  Anything else you can do to narrow it down.”

“I’m not NASA, Dean.  I’ll keep checking social media and blogs, but ultimately meteors are hard to track.”

“OK, OK, I’m just…” Dean was wiping his hand over his face, he glanced down at Cas lay on the bed, and with irritation he started to loosen the neck of the white dress shirt.  “Why the hell do you keep doing his shirt back up?”

“Huh?  I haven’t.  Why would I be dressing Cas?”  They stared at each other.  Sam moving slowly to join Dean staring down at Cas.  “Maybe his grace is doing it?  You know, sort of rebooting him.”

“Then why hasn’t it ‘rebooted’ his tie?  Get me a pen.  NOW.”

 

The truck was old and battered.  Cas pulled down the sun visor, yet another ‘human’ trick he had learned from being a Winchester.  The keys dropped into his lap, and fell through his knees onto the floor.  He fumbled around on the floor between his feet, banging his head lightly against the steering wheel.  His fingers closed around the cool metal, as the truck began to rock.  He had been spotted.  The people surrounding the vehicle were banging on the glass.  He sat upright and groped for the ignition in the half light.

The faces peering at him through the glass took on a crafty look, their mouths opening in unison.  “What are you?”  they chorused.  “You are not as the rest of them, what are you?”

The engine roared to life, and with his face set, Cas accelerated down the track, ignoring the bump and squelch as he ran over two or three of the bodies attacking the truck.

 

The creature that had been Grant Grant was in his house, the alien that had entered his body when it crawled from its spore had been surprised by this species.  They were unusual, strangely limited and yet able to adapt and make the most of their cold little rock and its limited resources.  They also tasted good.  For the first time ever, the alien was a little uncertain.  It wanted Starla, it felt so lonely without her.

For the first time ever in it’s existence it seemed strange seeing the world through so many eyes. The alien was used to seeing through thousands of eyes, why now, in this strange species did it make it feel so peculiar?  It was used to being all seeing, to casting itself throughout an entire world, it had been to thousands now, it barely recalled some of them.  But this one, here, this one species, seemed a little different. It tried to focus on its purpose.  It called to its drones, drawing them back to breed and feed, that was its only purpose.

Starla.  

The name echoed through the collective minds, the image of her face and the soft blonde hair silky to touch. It wanted Starla.  Its purpose… Starla...  

It let some of the drones search for Starla.  It was already distracted, it should follow it’s only purpose, but it wanted Starla.  Then quite suddenly the drones were watching something in a truck, another thing, that was not like this human species, their feeble receptors saw and heard it as the same as them, but the alien could sense its true form much bigger and brighter, beyond the understanding of these humans and their limited wavelength perception.  The power was beyond anything it had ever found on any world.  What it could do with that form.  Where it could go with that power.  No more throwing itself around the cosmos in lumps of rock.  Ten sets of eyes followed the truck as it bounced down the track.  

The alien jumped through the awareness of its drones seeking the truck and that elusive creature.  It would have Starla, and it would have the other thing and then everything would be perfect.  It would strip this world and cocoon itself in the new form, with Starla.  Its purpose had changed.

 

“Are you sure this is gonna work?”  Sam stared at Dean.

“Nope, but it’s the best idea I got.  Now help me get him outta his coat and jacket.”

 

The cruiser was a crumpled mess on the side of the road, tangled with the truck that must have t-boned it at the junction.  Cas circled around, he had to keep moving because there were lurching awkward drones everywhere, and he had no weapon and whilst he was sure one on one he could defeat them, in numbers he was not so certain of victory. His grace was pulsing and fading, and he needed to conserve it for the journey home when the opportunity came.  If it came.  He was still not sure what the hell was happening to him, but he was convinced the answer lay with Emily.  

The fuel light was beginning to flash, soon the decision about where to stop would be taken from him, so he found a darkened street and coasted the truck behind an old warehouse.  He was about to leave it when he realised he was only in his shirt sleeves, for a moment he was puzzled and then he remembered that this is probably a dream.  He knew from the times he had entered Dean’s dreams and his brief spell as a human that things like this can happen in dreams, they can lurch between scenes and make leaps. The realisation dawned; this was not normal dreamwalking.  Maybe he is dreaming himself and that’s why he is moving through the dream using conventional methods.  He certainly cannot just jump about at will.  His control here limited, he felt intensely vulnerable.

He stuck to the shadows and made his way along the edge of the warehouse, looking about him for anything he could use as a weapon, his luck bound to run out sooner or later.  He will need to defend himself.  He heard a small sound somewhere in the depths of the shadows and prepared to fight.

“Castiel,”  the whisper was quiet and urgent.  He looked down straight into Emily’s wide eyes blinking at him from behind a pallet.  She dragged him down, and he took her cold shaking hand.  

“Are you all right?” he asked her quietly.  She nodded, looking anything but.  Her face pale and smeared with something vaguely bloody, but diluted.  

“I thought for a while that this was real, and you and Dean were the dream, but as soon as I saw you I knew.  I am Emily Jorgeson, I’m 28 years old, I live in Boston, with my cat and I manage a Boston Book Store, but before I saw you, I was Kylie Strutemyer and I was having a shit day.  Today should be family fun day, which makes me roll my eyes and pray for the day I can leave this dump of a town and go somewhere far away, except now my whole family have become cannibalistic psychopaths intent on eating me…and I’d give anything to be sitting in a fucking diner eating pancakes and going to see the Worlds Largest Cow, or go for a ‘drive’, because I want them back. And I painted my goddamn nails with blue glittery shellac and I think it’s the best thing since Timberlake cut his hair.  It’s like I’m two people at once.  My teen years weren’t exactly great first time round. I really don't wanna do it again.  It sucks big time.”  

She swallowed hard, and Cas gripped her hand a little tighter, offering what reassurance he could.  He decided he likes this brave, funny woman… girl he corrected himself, even in the gloomy light he could see how she appeared to have de-aged.  She gave him a funny little smile, and her eyes were almost too bright.  “My head feels like a pound of ground beef, but right now?  Right now, I have to go and save Bill, cos he’s about to get attacked by a killer deer and if I’m not there to save him, he ain’t gonna be there to take down whatever the hell my… Kylie’s... teacher’s creepy fucking husband has turned into.”

Cas opened his mouth to speak, but he wasn’t quite sure how to frame his thoughts as words.  This was a dream.  But somehow it’s a shared dream. “I have the mother of all headaches,”  Emily continued softly, “I remember saving him from a killer deer, so now I have to go and actually do it.”

Cas was about to comment, but realised it’s pointless.  A killer deer does sound ridiculous, but dreams are often weird, and with his companions of choice he had to admit he has seen weirder in the real world.  He felt their absence quite suddenly.  Quite specifically he missed Dean, but he closed that thought down.   “Do you want me to come with you?”  he began to shift, ready to follow her.

“No,”  she whispered, obviously thinking hard, “I don’t remember you being there.  But don’t go too far away,  I think unless you are around, I’ll be Kylie again and this, I mean you, will be the dream and I won’t remember what I have to do.  Stay close, please Cas...I don’t like losing myself.”

She walked stealthily and without hesitation towards the station, and Cas dropped back against the wall, impressed again with her courage.  It was then he noticed the tickling sensation, his cuffs were unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up, although he had no recollection of so doing.  As he watched, a dark wriggling line appeared on his forearm, he stared at it in mild alarm.  He rubbed at it, and it smudged.  He edged as far into the light as he dared.  The words were blurred where he smeared the wet ink, but he could still make out the message.  He rolled his eyes in irritation… where the hell is he supposed to find a pen and then something hard poked him where his leg and body join.  He groped in his pants pocket, and his fingers closed automatically around the plastic.  He pulled it out and stared at the sharpie lay in his palm.  

Calmly, slowly, he pulled off the cap and wrote on the soft white flesh of his own inner arm, in small neat block capitals.  YES.

 

The noise was obscene, a lapping, sucking sound, like a boat gunnel or a teenager chewing gum open mouthed.  The deer was chowing down on Shelby the radio operator. “Fuck me,” Bill said in total disbelief.  The flesh was raw in places, blooded meat chunking through the soft sateen of the deerskin.  Where normally soft gentle eyes would have blinked at him, black pits, dangerous as a rabid dog stared out at him and then within seconds it had launched itself at him and Bill Pardy was fighting for us life against a fucking doe.  

He pushed it back, as it tore at his clothes. He had never understood the attraction of hunting season, charging around with a thousand dollar rifle killing anything that moved, but at this very moment, he honestly wouldn’t mind someone taking a pot shot at ‘Bambo’.

He screamed in pain as it’s mouth pinched round the arm he had thrown over his face as he tried to protect himself.  Tiny vicious little hooves dashed at his face as he grappled with it, avoiding the savagely snapping jaws and trying desperately to push it away as it butted into his abdomen, intent on making him dinner.

“Hey,”  Kylie’s voice was clear over the roar of blood in his ears, “mother fucker!”  The fire extinguisher making contact with the skull rang like a victory bell and the doe fell straight legged and stiff onto the floor. Kylie grabbed his arm and he began to haul himself up.

“Thank you,” he muttered. “Come on, come on.”  He grabbed the door of the weapon store and yanked it open to reveal his prize.  A grenade they had confiscated from one of the local rednecks before they blew their face off.  

“We gotta go,”  Kylie grabbed his arm, her voice urgent and insistent.  “Once one sees us, they all see us.”

“Take this,” he said, shoving a revolver into her unresisting hands.  She pushed it into her waistband.  As he strode towards the door, she paused for a moment, absolutely certain there was something she should remember.  She concentrated hard on the image of a dark haired man with over bright blue eyes.  Castiel, the name came to her in the familiar gravelly voice of someone she didn’t know and the pain in her head was immediate, sudden and overwhelming, she brought her hands to the sides of her head and pushed hard on her temples.  Bill was far too preoccupied to notice.  His only concern; destroying this thing and saving his town, and Starla, of course.  That torch has burned so long and so hard that there is no oxygen left in his soul.

Kylie followed him out of the door looking about her fearful of more drones.  Then she saw _him_ in the shadows, and her mind cleared instantly, the memories were there again and she knows what she must do.  

 

_CAS CAN YOU SEE THIS_

YES

As the letters appeared on his flesh, both Winchesters exhaled with relief, neither had realised they were holding their breath.  

_WHERE ARE YOU?_

EMILY’S DREAM OR MINE OR BOTH  EMILY HERE  BRIGHT RED SLUGS  STAMPED ON ONE, PUT IN POCKET, LOST MY COAT

Gingerly Sam turned out the trenchcoat pockets the squidged remains of what was clearly some form of invertebrate dropped onto the table with a mild squelching thud.  Sam poked it with another pen, his face pulling into a moue of distaste.  He glanced at Dean, who bent back to his task.

_S'OK S'HERE. WE HAVE IT. WHAT ELSE?_

EMILY ONLY EMILY WHEN SHE SEES ME.  KYLIE STRUTEMYER HERE

Dean paused _WHAT DO YOU NEED?_ He laughed as he could almost hear the peevish tone in Cas’ voice in the words as they appeared on his arm.

A WEAPON & MY COAT.  IT’S COLD.

 

Sam watched his brother hovering over Cas.  He had barely left his side and whilst he is ostensibly taking care of both of their charges, his eyes slid back to Cas almost automatically, just as they always did.  They dressed him in one of Dean’s t-shirts and a thick fleece lined shirt, both of dark material.  It was Sam’s idea, reasoning that it would help him blend in and make it easier to hide in shadows if he needed to.

They had recapped about all they knew.  Cas was in a small town somewhere.  It was night-time, and Emily was fulfilling her dream of being a teenage girl who was caught up in an alien invasion.  Cas was following her with extreme caution, avoiding all the drones, but making sure he was close enough that he could be a discreet presence in her peripheral vision, as this was seemingly enough to keep her grounded in this reality.  The whys and hows of him being there unknown.  All this gleaned from the scraps of words drawn onto his arm now safely under the cover of the material of his sleeve, his angel sword snug against his lower arm.

Dean’s stomach growled and he realised he hadn’t eaten since Sam had brought the bagels back first thing.  He glanced at the window, the sky blooming deep purple as the night settled around them.  “You go,” Sam said quietly, barely pausing his fingers hovering over the keyboard of his laptop.  “There’s a spate of call outs about power outs and phone lines down near a small town in South Carolina.  It probably isn’t related, but it’s possible that there was some damage that took a couple of days to effect the infrastructure.”  He looked up. “You’ve not been outside for over 24 hours, get some air.”

He followed the line of his brother’s gaze.  “I’ll watch him…” Dean’s head snapped back. “Er… them,”  Sam was adding, keen not to unsettle Dean even more.  Rolling his eyes, Dean grabbed his keys from his pocket and with a final glance over his shoulder he slammed the motel door and was gone.  

 

The fuel nozzle clunked as he slotted it home.  If they ended up heading down to South Carolina it made sense to have Baby primed and ready to go.  It was thoroughly dark now,  the twilight truly over.  Stars prickled the sky overhead, but there was no moon.  The forecourt lights were dim, the soft yellow glow from the squat low build that housed the tills barely breaking the gloom.  The only other light in the night sky was the far distant luminosity of the city on the horizon.  His footsteps sounded gritty, like a cheap movie sound effect, as he closed the short distance to the shop and seized the door handle.  

One of those electronic ding-dong sounds echoed round the shelved aisles as the full glass door closed behind him.  After all his years as a hunter his instincts for something being ‘off’ were so sharp that he was reaching for the gun in the back of his waistband before he even gave it conscious thought.  His gait went from relaxed bow-legged stroll to prowl in the same instant as he brought his weapon double handed in front of him and edged down the aisle towards the tills.

This place was not far enough away from Kansas City to make it safe enough for the owner to leave the gas station open and untended, like this.  He listened hard, and could just make out the soft murmur of a TV or radio somewhere out back.  He crept towards the sound, placing one soft foot in front of the other, making no noise himself, when he heard the first pained moan coming from a room behind the counter.   Moving quickly he brought his foot up to kick open the door.

 

Bill Pardy was not having a good week.  It had started dull and workaday.  Aimlessly wiling away the hours in the cruiser with his cap over his eyes dozing, while his deputy held the speed gun, idly testing the comparative velocities of birds in flight and wildlife.  Nothing ever happened here, but that was cool.  It was his town, he’d grown up here, and now he was a something.  He loved these people.  For all their faults and their petty squabbles they were mostly good, and his team were well meaning, if a little ineffectual.

It wasn’t like they faced much more excitement than the occasional spot of teen high jinks, or random act of stupidity.  The mayor was a douche, but then, Bill thought, that described most politicians.  He could work with Jack, just about.

And then his world had exploded, quite literally.  First a missing person case, rare as crocodile tears in itself, chief suspect, Starla Grant’s husband. A man he envied and worked hard not to loathe. Their attempt to question him thwarted when they found him assaulting Starla in the mansion with what could only be described as a tentacle where his arm should be.  

Bill Pardy thought himself a calm and sensible man, but he had to admit he wondered what the fuck was going on here. Finding his missing person in a barn on the outskirts of town, swollen beyond anything recognisably human. An over-pumped pig balloon of human skin, was only topped when she exploded into a thousand squirming blood red slugs which slithered this way and that seeking hosts.  

His people, his friends, his townsfolk turning into lurching, spitting, flesh eating drones in front of his very eyes. Then worst of all, he had suffered the excruciating embarrassment of discussing the effect of his bowel movements on his mother’s plumbing in front of Starla Grant.

Alien parasite invasions, no problem.  Radio Operator Shelby passing on messages about him blocking the drains with ‘what he done down there on Sundee’ in front of the woman he had pined for since high school, well that was a whole different ball game.  

Shelby.  He drew in a long steadying breath.  The image of her lying on the floor of the station, the obscene noise as the deer ate her intestines rose like the bile in his throat, unbidden from nowhere.  He grabbed at Kylie’s cool hand, as much for his own reassurance as for hers.  “You know what, when we tell that story, it’s gonna be me saving you, right?  Ain’t no way it’s you saving me from an iddy-biddy deer.”

She gazed at him, and her lips twitched with a hint of a smile.  He gave her a little grin and they worked their way quietly through town towards the Grant mansion.  She waited until his attention was fully on the way ahead, before she glanced back over her shoulder, spotting the slight movement that meant they were still being conscientiously followed.

 

Sam hacked the traffic cams on the highway, but all they showed was the low level movements he expected for just gone midnight on a weekday night in hicksville, South Carolina.  He worked backwards, the view lightening as it rolled back into daylight. The power company trucks reappeared from the turnpike and seemingly gained speed backwards.  Time stamp 11am.  A little over 36 hours and still no fix.  That was some power out.  He hacked into their computer system, smiling a little sadly as Charlie’s voice echoed through his mind, “you have learned well, my padawan.”

After an initial check in, estimating 3 hours of work to get the grid back up, the power company had lost contact with their crew.  There were a few emergency calls, localised, a missing person report, then nothing.  The phone company were waiting for the power company to bring the grid back up, before they reset the local exchanges.  Social media was quiet.  Updates slowing down to nothing within a few of hours, but maybe that was the result of batteries flattening down and the towers dropping out, he reasoned calmly. It didn’t have to mean alien armageddon.

Neither Emily nor Cas had moved, but Sam checked on them both anyways.  Emily’s face looked so young as she slept on peacefully, Sam checked Cas’ arms quickly for additional messages, but there was nothing new scrawled on his skin.  He heard the loud growling purr of the Impala’s 550 BHP as it coasted to a halt outside and waited for Dean to appear.

His brother was limping slightly as he opened the door, and a small cut had dried itself shut on his cheek.  “What the hell happened to you?”  Sam asked.

Dean gave him an embarrassed shrug as he dropped his gas station purchases onto the table.  

“Dean?”

“I thought there was something going down at the gas station…”

“And?”

“There wasn’t.”

“So what the…”

“Later OK.  Let’s eat.”

Sam sighed, guessing he probably wouldn’t find out later, but he had his own, case related, news to impart.  

  
  
Cas kept his distance, following quietly along behind Emily and the Sheriff.  Three times now he’d put souls out of their misery, driving his angel blade deep into human flesh. It always hurt, always made him feel dirty.  Warrior or not, he valued life too much to ever find it easy, but these people were already lost and he had to kill them before they saw him… or Emily.  She had been very clear, they were a collective, a hive-mind, and not a nice friendly yellow and black, honey making, buzzing hive, either…

**Author's Note:**

> written for this...https://www.tumblr.com/search/spncoldesthits
> 
> because ... why the hell not!


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